flown over myself, the shedding feathers from black birds that follow me;
my own fingers, pluck the ends from out of my skin,
as the sky shifts,
as the bristling of dead trees offer no shelter,
no warmth from their bony arms.


it's easy to follow silence
i keep her nestled in the hollow of my throat & while it swims into my lungs
all i can do is float
on the squeaking mattress,
against his cold, huge hands
holding me there,
cornered around vibrational gasps.

my body is corroding
my limbs are severed
the insides are flowing out of me
like rushing water.

like, the tub,
filling with pink.
Its shaking stomach rocking me against rusting porcelain.


They sleep among the dead.
I sleep in their duggen-up graves.